IBB didn’t disappoint me

Leaders do not self-flagellate in print; they reframe history to fit their chosen narrative. If anything, the real story lies not in what Ibrahim Babangida says in ‘A Journey in Service’, but in what he omits—and the gaps he leaves for historians, journalists, and scholars to dissect

Former military president Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida’s book, ‘A Journey in Service’,  has, predictably, ignited heated debates across Nigeria. Critics argue that he glossed over some contentious aspects of his rule—particularly the economic upheaval triggered by his Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP). His supporters laud the book as an essential account of a leader who navigated Nigeria through a complex era.

Amid all this discourse, a peculiar sense of surprise lingers, as though Nigerians genuinely expected Babangida to pen a self-condemning memoir. This expectation ignores the very nature of political autobiographies. Rarely, if ever, do former heads of state write books that portray themselves in an unfavourable light. Across the world, such memoirs serve as instruments of legacy-building rather than confessional documents. Political leaders do not author history to dismantle their own reputations; they write to shape how they are remembered.

Take, for example, Richard Nixon, the American president who resigned in disgrace following the Watergate scandal. In writing RN: The Memoirs of Richard Nixon, he did not dwell on personal guilt but instead crafted a narrative of a misunderstood leader whose choices, though flawed, were rooted in patriotism. Similarly, British Prime Minister Tony Blair’s ‘A Journey’ justifies his decision to invade Iraq, despite the disastrous consequences and widespread public opposition. Closer to home, former Nigerian president Olusegun Obasanjo’s extensive literary contributions—including ‘My Watch’—paint him as a visionary statesman, often downplaying his own missteps while scrutinising those of others.

Babangida’s book follows this same pattern. Those who anticipated a mea culpa—an outright admission of economic mismanagement or a confession of personal interest in annulling the June 12 election—misunderstand the strategic purpose of political memoirs. Rather than reacting with shock or disappointment, Nigerians should approach Babangida’s book with the critical lens it deserves. His version of history is but one perspective—one that will inevitably be challenged, scrutinised, and debated. But expecting him to have written an account that dismantles his own legacy was always wishful thinking. If history has taught us anything, it is that it is rarely written by those who lost power in disgrace, but by those who wielded it. Babangida’s memoir was never going to be an exception.

The excerpts from the memoir that I have read have got me thinking about ‘Badamasi’, his biopic shot some years back by Obi Emelonye. I have a strong feeling IBB or people close to him spoke with the makers of the movie off-record. The portrayal of Sani Abacha in the biopic is in sync with the book’s presentation of the late military leader as the head of the forces against MKO Abiola becoming president.

In the biopic, initially billed for the cinema on the 28th anniversary of the celebrated presidential poll won by the late MKO Abiola, which IBB shamelessly aborted, but later quietly ‘dumped’ on Amazon Prime, Abacha came out as the ruthless one.

A tired IBB at some point had to shout on the man he called Khalifa (successor): “Can’t you see what is happening? We have messed up?” But an adamant Abacha replied: “Whatever happens, the election remains canceled”.

Many coups in the country’s history had this son of Niger playing one major role or the other. IBB was there when Murtala Mohammed overthrew Yakubu Jack Gowon; he backed Muhammadu Buhari to terminate the democratic administration of the late Shehu Shagari; he is also credited with foiling the Dimka coup which killed Murtala Mohammed, and he was not missing in action when Buhari was shown the exit for him to take the crown.

When he came into power, it was like a messiah had come from unexpected quarters. He behaved as if a friend of the common man was finally manning the purse and fairness would dictate the disbursement of its goodies. He started talking about the rule of law, he was talking about ending poverty, he was talking about human rights, and he was talking about a government with a human face- an obvious criticism of the government he overthrew, which had zero respect for human rights, rule of law and many others.

IBB followed up his talks by setting up committees to work out the implementations of his ideas. He attracted some of the best brains from the academia, the Bar, and everywhere else. Many were excited about the turn of events and natural critics of government pleaded for the man to be given a chance. It took time for it to become clear that a political Diego Maradona was in the saddle, and he would dribble Nigeria into a tight corner, which, years after, it would be trying to get itself out of.

One of the populist moves IBB took was to get his Attorney-General, the respected Egba Prince, Bola Ajibola, to assemble a National Committee on Corruption and Other Economic Crimes. It was chaired by the late Justice Kayode Eso. Its task was defined by its name. One of the suggestions the committee made, as Eso recalled in his book, ‘The Mystery Gunman’, was the enactment of rules against living beyond one’s means. It also sought the establishment of the Independent Commission Against Corruption, which I suspect was the root of the one Obasanjo later set up. IBB showered Eso and his committee with encomium when he received their report. He described its recommendations as the real panacea to the ills of the nation and promised to act on them, but the only action he took was to dump the report. If he had not done that, many in his government and his friends would have had their times in jail. Several other populist moves, including the one which gave the impression he was going to be in power for a short period, went the way of the Eso committee. The Maradona was just playing games.

I am happy that in the book Babangida admits Abiola won that election. I don’t know the worth of his claim that given the chance, he would have handled the annulment, which he blamed on Abacha-led forces, differently. His use of ‘without my approval’ to pass the bulk on weighty matters of national interests seems in line with his image as the Maradona.

All in all, I’m not disappointed in him. He has only followed the footsteps of past leaders all over the world to dance around issues rather than face them.

My final take:  Leaders do not self-flagellate in print; they reframe history to fit their chosen narrative. If anything, the real story lies not in what Ibrahim Babangida says in ‘A Journey in Service’, but in what he omits—and the gaps he leaves for historians, journalists, and scholars to dissect.